The brisk wind came off the lake like a cold front sweeping across the country. Little pellets of sand hit his feet, falling into the crevices along his toes. His sweat pants billowed, flapping in the wind along with the once royal blue shirt, which had faded over the years. Along the shore, was a family: The mother appeared to be helping her child as it attempted its’ first steps. The father was building a castle in the sand with a boy. Otherwise, the beach was empty. It wasn’t a particularly hot day, as summer was coming to an end and the temperatures began to fall. At the end of the shore were trees, whose green leaves were trying with all their might to keep the bright green pigment they had possessed over the summer. Others had already given in, now a lavish gold and red color. Some had even begun to fall already, which brought happiness to him. Fall was his favorite time of year. It was when he met the love of his life, and it always reminded him of the walks they took along this shore. He had lived on the coast of Lake Erie for the past 60 years: same house, same clothes, same everything. Every night at 6, he would go out for his walk, which would usually take an hour. The soles of his feet had softened after all these walks, the cold water soaking into the bottom of his tan, worn old feet.

He turned and made his way back home. Over across the water, the sun lit up the sky, rays of pink and orange making the sky as beautiful as he could imagine. Walking up the steps, the splintered wood didn’t bother him: his screen door creaked open as he entered his house.

“Good evening Mary, how was your day?” he asked, falling into a green, suede chair. A cup of cold coffee from that morning sat on the table next to him. It had a foul taste as he drank it, but he didn’t mind. “I missed you today.”
She smiled back at him, revealing the same expression that he fell in love with the first time he saw her. The same smile he looked forward to seeing, that warmed his insides after a long day of work out in the cold. His frail figure rose, and he made way for the kitchen. Bella rubbed against his leg, letting out a purr as she walked beside him.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asked, waiting for a response that never came. “All righty then, I’ll just make some soup and coffee.”

Once he finished cooking, he returned to his chair and flipped on the television. The bowl of soup that rested between his hands warmed the tips of his fingers, sending waves of heat through his body. The evening news was nothing but a mere distraction, providing the background noise that he needed to fully lose himself in Mary’s company. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Her silence hurt him, and he felt hopeless, praying every night that he would wake up and hear her voice. A tear slid along his cheek through wrinkles, diving into the broth below. Once again he rose, only this time, there was no Bella by his side. The bowl of soup had turned lukewarm, and his appetite had left him.

“Night, honey, I’ll see you in the morning.”

He was awakened by a shatter. His feet shuffled and slid along the wood floors in his slippers as he walked down the hall, towards where he assumed the incident was. His heart stopped. Mary was on the floor, cracked and broken, her smile in pieces; her once sturdy frame now bent and bruised. With his back allowing, he bent down, gathered the pieces, and set the picture back on the table.

“Damn you, Bella,” he said, and headed back to his bedroom.